


7 Weeks

by Catminty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Abuse, Character Death, Drabble Collection, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mech Preg, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Multi, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-28 07:31:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10079588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catminty/pseuds/Catminty
Summary: Varying drabbles through different continuities. Requests welcome through Tumblr.





	1. Megatron - Litter

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be living alone for the next 7 weeks, so I need something to distract myself from the loneliness. This will include prompts submitted to http://clocktimustime.tumblr.com/ and things I've thought up on my own. 
> 
> Unedited, shameless, and sometimes just plain silly. I'll include warnings at the top for triggers.

**Requested by:** darklordofcutlets on Tumblr

 **Length:** 632 words

 **Warnings:** Mech pregnancy, potential accidental harm to newborns, mentions of unsafe working conditions

 **Original Post:** http://clocktimustime.tumblr.com/post/157988155214

 

The tunnel was dark and without any lighting outside of optics, biolights and the occasional torch, if one was so wasteful. It was always dark. Mechs went blind if they stayed in the unending blackness for too long. The foremen said sight was not a luxury the miners required to get the job done.

This made other senses more pronounce. Sound, smell, and touch were all amplified–sometimes overwhelmingly so–to a mech used to working with limited sight. Leaning against the rocky wall of his tunnel branch, Megatron heard every gentle whirl of cooling fans learning to regulate temperature. The strange, sweet smell of afterbirth still clung to the unhardened armor of the wriggling frames. Tiny, impossibly small fingers gripped whatever seam their claw tips could find purchase on.

Too fragile. Four sparklings, just born and barely able to squeak, were far too fragile for the stench of explosives and the clouds of dust hanging in the air. Had Megatron known, he would have found a way out before they arrived. How could he defend such delicate little things beneath tons of rocks and metal?

He did not know they existed until they were coming. The discomfort of four tiny frames growing within his own wasn’t even considered. Miners experienced pain; miners learned that the sharper the pain, the more life threatening. Illness that cause a slow, aching death weren’t what kill a miner. The aches and pains of carrying were ignored in favor of getting through another day of darkness and relentless manual labor.

They came into the world as quietly as their carrier, soft grunts and warm plating as they reached out for each other. Their warmth, still stemming from the heated depths of Megatron’s own internals, seeped into the miner’s scarred chestplate. Delicate, breakable limbs stretched every which way as they already began trying to explore their new world. It was all the carrier could do to wrap his arms in a protective nest around their cooling bodies. 

They were just too fragile for the laborious life he lived buried so far underground. 

Gently, as not to topple them from his chest, Megatron shifted enough to pull one of his few possessions from his subspace. The old, tattered blanket settled across the sparklings’ backs. He considered lifting them to wrap them fully in the blanket, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was the feel of tiny fans blowing whispers of air from their vents, or perhaps it was the call of his spark begging for proximity to the lights that had been so close to his own since their creation. Or, maybe, it was the way their soft warmth seeped past his plating, past all his daily aches and pains. For the first time in too long, pain was not the only thing he registered.

Megatron’s optics dimmed as he gently traced a finger along one sparkling’s soft, rounded cheek. Pale optics flashed open briefly as it registered the touch. A dim light, but something nearly blinding in the darkness. He gently brushed his finger along another helm, noting how the sparkling’s helm jerkily followed after the touch. They could not see. Like him, they relied on other senses to find their surroundings. 

As though upset at being passed over, the first squeaked sharply. Megatron huffed a laugh and settled his hands against all four blanketed backs so not a one would feel ignored. Two more pairs of optics flashed in the darkness, searching for what they could not see. Not yet, anyway. 

Settling back against the wall of the half-finished tunnel, Megatron hummed softly to the four little ones in his arms. The dangers of the world were too harsh for ones so small, but they were not alone in this world. Now, neither was their carrier. 


	2. Optimus/Megatron - Hate

**Requested by:** darklordofcutlets on Tumblr

 **Posted:** 03/04/2017

 **Length:** 836 words

 **Warnings:**  Death mentions, death of unnamed characters, abuse, abuse of power, sexual abuse, sexual content

 **Original Post:** http://clocktimustime.tumblr.com/post/157997239394/

There was irony in the fact that some of the worst mecha were also the most attractive.

A list of names and faces crawled across the splintered screen of the datapad like a cluster of spider through a web. Forty-seven reported casualties. Forty-seven good, hard-working sparks were extinguished by a mech claiming to fight for justice for the people. But instead of mourning the dead and promising vengeance as he should, Optimus Prime struggled with an ungainly, ugly fact about himself: he was undeniably attracted to Megatron.

Instead of seeing the countless faces of those he’d never see again roll past the screen, Optimus’ mind cycled back to the visage of Megatron on the battlefield. The way the warlord’s armor flexed with each violent crash and the mech’s flexible and sinuous movements to dodge enemy hits, combined with that confident yet defiant sneer—it took Optimus’ mind away from the brutality wrought by the one mech he craved, even though he shouldn’t.

Optimus offlined the datapad and held his helm in his hand.

There were mechs he saw just a short while ago that he would never see again. Their excited, nervous faces beamed confidently up at him while he ordered them to gunpoint of their unmakers. Yet, Optimus could not see their faces because his mind was focused solely on the curve of that blasted warlord’s smirk, the slant of those sharp, challenging optics as they stared down the next mech stupid enough to challenge a titan.

What would Optimus do if he were able to punish Megatron once and for all? How could he ever make someone pay for all of the crimes and atrocities his enemy has committed?

What would he do if he had Megatron at his mercy? Would he torture him for days upon end? Cycles of hanging by his bound hands from the ceiling would probably just make Megatron defiant. Beating him with those very chains, while satisfying, would only cause temporary damage.

Optimus stilled at the feeling of his own thumb tracing his lower lip.

Physical pain can be forgotten with time and repair. No. It would take more than a beating to punish someone like Megatron. Something worse would be needed; something that stuck with the mech while he tried to sleep at night.

The mech would be blinded at the start and unblinded at the end of each session. Not to hide the identity of his torture. No. The darkness would be a totem, a grounding device to tie him to the memories. The darkness would be his one constant through all of it. He would be lashed in total blindness, seared with pokers in total blindness, violated in every way possible, all in total blindness.

Optimus would enjoy every minute of it. Would he scream with the same voice he shouts with on the battlefield? Would the warm cavity of his throat feel the same after his voice went to static?

The image of Megatron on his back, plating battered and energon-splattered, came to the forefront of Optimus’ mind.

He would be tied to a table, spread wide by his bonds. The warlord’s helm would dangle over the edge, mouth forced open with more than a gag keeping his jaw forced wide. The mech was large by his own right, but Optimus imagined the bulge moving up and down that silver neck with each thrust.

Optimus opened his spike cover and palmed the length roughly. Just as he would grip that throat in time with each pull, stopping any further vocalizations of war or orders of revolt.

The scene changed. A blinded Megatron appeared on his knees, begging for the punishment he deserves from the mecha he wronged. Tools of torture scattered around his frame.

Just as quickly, the scene changed again to the mech on his knees, begging for the punishment he deserved from Optimus with each clanging thrust. Tools of pleasure scattered around their frames.

Again, the image shifted. Optimus laid flat on his berth while Megatron ground slow circles over his pelvis. Gone are the shackles, gone are the torture devices. All that remained was that strong, sinuous body working his spike.

Optimus groaned.

Megatron would stare him down while cycling his hips, optics smoldering and handsome face smug. Of course he would be smug. Torture would leave no impact on a mech so mighty. Even if he was blinded, Megatron would turn his weapon of a frame against his captor at every turn.

A hand would cover Optimus’ optics, blinding him in the same way to force his focus on their joined frames. His own tool would be turned against him, and Optimus would shatter in the best way.

Heavy ventilations filled the small, dark room as Optimus came down from his high. He stared blindly through the parted fingers over his optics, blinking away the image of Megatron’s amused smirk.

On his other hand, he only saw the energon of the mechs he failed to save due to his blindness.


	3. Megatron - Getting By

**Requested by:**  -

 **Posted:** 03/05/2017

 **Length:** 702 words

 **Warnings:**  Injury mention, blood mention, non-explicit alternative nursing 

 **Original Post:** http://clocktimustime.tumblr.com/post/158035816834/

Soft light from the hall seeped through the thin gap beneath the barricaded door. Mechs passing through the hall on the other side played shadows against the lantern light. Each passing frame caused a rustle of motion from within the secured room. A short wall of smoothed, hand-polished metal stood firmly near a back corner. Four pairs of small, chubby hands gripped the rounded edge for stability while bright optics followed each new shadow.

A dull roar rose and fell from beyond the door, louder than those echoing the halls earlier. Just a short while later, a smooth gait echoed as a large mech made his way closer. The little ones’ grips tightened on their handholds, their wobbly feet kicking excitedly.

The door unlocked with a thud and swung open. Excited squeaks greeted the mech, though one squeak was muffled while the sparkling chewed on the barricade penning them in. Though tired and sporting multiple injuries, the mech smiled at them.

Carrier was home.

~-~-~

Megatron took the time to clean his injuries and wash away any dirt or debris he gathered from his latest match. All the while, he continued to respond with pleased rumbles at each of their excited peeps.

One of the injuries on his side smarted while he cleaned it. He drew the disinfectant cloth back and scrutinized the gash. It would heal in time.

It was a good thing he kept a sufficient fueling regimen. Most of his earnings were spent on the quality fuel his body needed to process into the sparklings’ fuel, making his systems much more responsive to healing injuries compared to the average gladiator. But that extra expenditure made credits tight more often than not.

Swinging a leg over the short barrier, Megatron climbed into the pen. Standard berths in the gladiator quarters were simple slabs thrown on the ground. That was fine for Megatron. He eased down to sit in the corner. The sparklings toddled over to him, shakily crawling up the small bump to the berth’s surface. One of the four tried to step up from the floor to the berth—quite a big step for one so small—but gravity took hold before he found his footing. The little one fell back on his skidplates with a plop. Startled optics blinked at Megatron owlishly. The other three turned to look at their fallen brother.

“What happened, little one?” Megatron asked calmly. He did not move to pick up the sparkling. It was best to let him figure out what happened, to let him figure out how to overcome this setback.

After a moment, the sparkling pushed himself to his feet and shuffled back to the edge of the berth. This time, he lifted his foot, carefully found his footing, and managed to climb onto the berth without trouble. The sparkling looked back up to Megatron with a big grin on his little face. Megatron rumbled his approval, then he scooped up the sparkling and settled him in the crook of his arm.

They were still too small, too fragile to be exposed to the dangers of the world. But they would be taught, in time, how to overcome larger challenges. The confident, happy face of his little ones was a treasure.

Megatron transformed a fingertip into a small nub and pressed it to his little champion’s mouth. A small line of code ran through his processor to begin supplying filtered energon as the sparkling suckled. Leaning his helm against the wall, Megatron focused on the feeling of small frames nestled against his own. All were fed one at a time, each soaking up the warmth, love, and fuel for their growing frames.

He set them in a row on their backs after fueling. Teasing, wriggling fingers skated along their bellies and brows. Excited giggles echoed through the room as some shied away from the fingers while others tried to grab them.

In spite of the aches and pains of the last fight, Megatron felt nothing but warmth radiating from his spark. There was not much he could do to protect them from this world, but, for now, they were warm, well fed, and—hopefully—as happy as they made him.


	4. Ratchet - Coping

**Requested by** : parallelpie on Tumblr

**Posted** : 03/05/2017

**Length** : 435 words

**Warnings** : Death mentions, coping with loss, general sadness

**Original Post** : http://clocktimustime.tumblr.com/post/158048948144

Losing Optimus was difficult. In his processor, Ratchet understood that his Prime was gone, but he hadn’t been able to fully accept it. Not yet, he reminded himself, but one day. It would just take time to heal.

All deaths were hard. Some were harder than others. At least, that was what he told himself every morning. Ratchet pushed himself out of the berth with a frown. Dreaming about Optimus assisting him with simple tasks around the base was—

Pointless.

He had enough memory files of Team Prime sweeping the floors or scrubbing what precious tools they had. Cleaning was one of the few things he did these days. There was no point in dreaming about something so mundane. He must have been bored to focus on such things.

Nodding to himself, Ratchet set about his tasks for the day as the lone operator of the Earth base.

The pain of losing any comrade stayed with him for a long time. But it would fade. The pain always faded to a dull ache. They all lost far too many beloved friends and comrades for Ratchet to not understand what the pain meant. He understood it would pass.

Of course it would. Time was what he needed. Time, and some distance to heal. That was why he stayed on Earth, after all.

The base was cleaned meticulously. Scans and reports were generated then uploaded directly through the connection to Cybertron. Messages were replied to through emails. The day passed as uneventfully as it always did.

With a start, Ratchet stared down at the two cubes set on the table in front of him. They both had a scoop of a different blend of additives, but his choice blend wasn’t the one that was already half full of energon. This was probably what the humans referred to as “auto-pilot.” With a scowl he dumped the additives of his cube back in its canister and stomped away with the half-full cube in hand.

Stupid.

The crippling pain of losing Optimus would burn bright for a long time, he reasoned to himself while sitting down on his berth. It would hurt, and then it would diminish to a small ember of pain. That ember would relocate to the part of his spark where so many others resided. It would be the same cycle as all the others.

Ratchet took a sip of the flavored cube he pulled by mistake. Sweetness like that of a young, cheerful, _stupid_ archivist flooded his senses. It made his spark burn. Ratchet stared down at the cube

He really was an idiot.


	5. Optimus Prime/Megatron - Heat

**Requested by** : subterranean-waters on Tumblr

 **Posted** : 03/11/2017

 **Length** : 1,986 words

 **Warnings** : HEAT FIC where the one in heat needs to spike, dubious consent to enthusiastic consent, nsfw, sticky, asphyxiation, characters not themselves due to the situation

 **Original Post** : http://clocktimustime.tumblr.com/post/158260471329

 

It was on one of those semi-peaceful scouting excursions that he ran across the Prime. Megatron joined in the effort in search of finding a new source of suitable resources thinking it would be more of a waste of time than anything. But stumbling across a lost, single Autobot in the forest was more than luck.

Megatron suspected an ambush.

Stopping by the edges of a thicket, he surveyed Optimus and the surrounding area. The trees in the denser forest were thicker and older than those further out. A few smaller Autobots could, possibly, hide tucked behind the wide trunks. At the same time, the Prime in the clearing looked... Lost. Or perhaps he looked as though he was looking for something by the way he made small steps in a tight circle.

Who was Megatron to not take an opportunity laid out before him? Charging his cannon, he stepped into the clearing.

"Prime! What a surprise finding you here," Megatron shouted, loud enough to alert any Autobots lying in wait. Perhaps he could land a few potshots on the cowardly slaggers before grappling the Prime into submission.

The Prime's shoulders lowered at the sound of his voice. Slowly, the mech turned to Megatron and gave an evaluating scan of the surroundings. There was not a micron of fear in his frame.

"Come now. Nothing to say?" Megatron challenged.

"Megatron. You are here." The Prime nodded to himself. Blue optics took on an unfocused gleam. "Of course you would be here. You always come for me."

There was something decidedly off with the Autobot's stance. His frame was hunched, curled slightly on itself, but not for the benefit of height beneath the treetops. The clearing they claimed had a wide view of the afternoon sky. The Prime looked haggard. Blue optics flicked back and forth to keep an eye on the surroundings.

Or was it something more primal, like a half-starved guttermech looking for his next chance at fuel? With the Prime's heavy, defensible frame, his stance seemed to hulk over anything under his shadow.

No matter. A distracted Prime was a dead Prime. Megatron smirked. "Well then. Should we get right down to it?"

As Megatron triggered the shot in his charged cannon, Optimus lunged forward with speed unmatching his frame. A streak of red and blue jerked to the left, then flew to the right a split second after the cannon blast streaked past. Blackened singe skirted the back of the Prime's skidplates.

Silent, shockingly deadly, Optimus tackled Megatron at a full sprint that was _strong_ enough to send them tumbling into the dense forest surrounding the clearing. Fits met plating violently; Megatron snarled harsh insults as the pair tossed and turned in the underbrush.

A solid hit by Megatron shattered the windshield on Optimus' chest. But Optimus followed through with the force of the move, effectively taking away Megatron's solid point of contact, and turned his frame in a tight spin to get behind the Decepticon. A harsh elbow in the lower back plating sent a shock up Megatron's spinal strut, stunning him further. One swift, measured kick knocked the silver mech to his knees.

A strong, solid arm slipped around Megatron's neck to force him in an uncomfortable headlock. His hands went immediately to ease the chokehold. The Prime dropped to one knee at his back. The other leg was thrown round his front, pulling Megatron's bent right leg away from his left. Their plating touched in areas where they most definitely should not, and it was then that the Decepticon warlord figured out why Optimus was indeed alone out in the middle of nowhere.

"Megatron," Optimus purred, pressing his face to the back of the silver helmet. "You came for me, didn't you?"

Struggling in the body lock, Megatron spat, "You fool! Release me before I make you regret hiding out here like a coward!"

"A coward?" Optimus huffed a shallow, heated puff of air in amusement. A shiver went down Megatron's frame at the rush of pheromones his chemoreceptors greedily absorbed. "I left the Ark in hopes of waiting this--" The mech's hauling engine turned over in a rumbling purr. "--out. Yet you still come for me, as you always do."

Megatron bit his own tongue to divert his processor past the sweet scents, warm frame, and fouled words of a mech gripped by the sticky fingers of a heat cycle. The arm around Megatron's neck loosened just enough to let its owner take an intoxicated inhale at the crook of his exposed neck. The pleased purr was more than a little disconcerting.

"Prime. Get ahold of yourself."

The mouth pressed to his neck stretched to a smirk. "Why should I hold myself?" Optimus tutted as he slid his free hand--one Megatron had forgotten about--down the front of Megatron's chest. Megatron made a grab for it as it slid enticingly down his arched chassis, but he snapped his hands back as the arm around his neck squeezed tight enough to stall his ventilations. Optimus strained at his back, pulling them higher to just barely cause tingles to wrack Megatron's frame.

Primus. Sometimes Megatron forgot just how fragging _strong_ his old rival was.

No. Stop it. Don't think about that.

"Why should I hold myself," the accursed Prime continued, "when I can do so many other wonderful things with these hands of mine?"

Fingers slipped into seams flared by Megatron's bowed frame that they normally had no right fitting into. The Prime was thick, solid in areas that really shouldn't matter as much as his processor was placing bets on. Yes, his thighs were sharply in a way perfectly designed for holding. No, those nimble fingers had no right wiggling--!!

Megatron grit out a stifled moan when those exploring fingers found a sensitive spot. He ground his denta harshly at the shivering, spark-rattling pleasure that crackled through his frame when Optimus' hips ground against his aft.

Meanwhile, coding happily cycled through background processes. Sneaky little built in overrides took down defenses and system locks to prepare for the upcoming event. This mech was strong. This mech was handsome in ways the systems' owner only pondered alone in the middle of the night.

This mech was in the middle of a raging heat, AND this mech took strong interested in in the system owner. Taxed battle systems gladly flew the white flag to send energy straight to hypercharge the proper components.

Megatron shuddered, hard, as his interface system light up like a runway _on fire_. No! When did--?! Cooling fans blared to life in time for the equivalent of a torrential downpour to flood areas that should most definitely be as dry as a fragging desert. The unmistakable scent of a highly aroused, extremely ready valve suffocated Megatron's vents.

In the next moment, several things happened. Optimus pushed all his some four metric tons forward. At the same time, the Prime's legs hooked to spread Megatron's legs wide in the filth of the forest floor. Stunned, Megatron only managed to react fast enough to catch their weight with his arms before he ate dirt. Plating _schlinged_ hard and hot, and the Prime ground hard against Megatron's upturned aft.

"P-Prime! What are you--!"

Oh. Apparently, more than just seams were exposed at some point. Megatron shivered as blue fingers glided through the glossy lips of his exposed valve. Calipers deep within the traitorous channel cycled down hopefully.

Something warm, blunt, and decidedly solid pushed blindly at the gap spread by those cruel fingers. Megatron lurched forward with a surprised yelp. The purr in Optimus' chest deepened to a growl; Megatron's face burned.

Rolling, measured thrusts made the stiff spike slide through the wetness of Megatron's valve without penetrating. The glide was angled just so to run the textured surface along the lips protecting the nub buried beneath the folds. Each swipe brought heat to the sensor-packed node. Fingers pulled back the lips hiding the nub, allowing the full length of Optimus' spike to slide slowly, deliberately across the charged sensor.

It felt so good. So good. Megatron bucked his hips at the second pass, a breathy sound of pleasure escaping him.

Optimus hooked his fingers in the hood of the valve, stretching the lips slightly. He angled his hips back, then he pressed forward into the snug, soaked opening. It gave with token resistance, admitting the wide head into the snug channel. The first thrust was slow enough to savor, but quickly enough that it stalled Megatron's vents. Primus, but it felt so good. Why had he even considered stopping this? Why didn't he bend over and spread his legs for this mech sooner? Why didn't--

Hips didn't meet when Optimus' spike ground against the ceiling of Megatron's valve. Optimus snarled, tightening his grip around Megatron's neck to pull the silver frame longer. Megatron groaned hoarsely, arms shaking.

Normally, the first penetration would be the best and worst moment of interface. The best because of the stretch, the warmth of the partners' interface adjusting to one another for the first time. The worst because, generally, that first stretch was the most the valve would take--everything after would be looser, more relaxed.

But, this. This was anything but relaxed. The first thrust fell away to the second, then the third, yet Megatron was still being spread wider, deeper than the last. It was true that Megatron did not often partake of valve play, but he was by no means a tight little virgin. The Prime was massive in both girth and length. Each thrust in failed to bottom out. Each push tested the limits of excited calipers doing their best to squeeze even a drop of fluid out of that scorching, pulsing spike.

The fingers still at Megatron's valve alternated between tugging the node's hood and rubbing circles around the node. Circular swipes made Megatron's legs quiver in attempt to spread further apart. He shivered at the pleased growl pressed to his shoulder. A finger and thumb hooked the hood, pulling it taught, while two of the free digits swiped circles around and over the node in time with each sharp, grinding thrust.

Optimus' thrusts started coming in harder. It was as though he was trying to force the valve to accommodate his extensive spike. Megatron quivered, choking on moans and gasps.

Weight pushed hard on Megatron's shoulders. He crumbled, falling forward with his aft still raised in the air. Broken sobs of pleasure and pleas for something, anything, _please_ don't stop echoed in the muted forest. The arm around his throat pulled tight, forcing an arching curve in Megatron's back that presented his valve just so for the vigorous pounding that followed.

Yes! Yes! Oh, Primus! He could feel that spike, Optimus' spike, slam in further and further with the increasing intensity of Optimus' rutting. The fingers on his node slid through the copious moisture in rough, random patterns that would surely leave the abused node aching later.

Megatron threw his head back and moaned, loud and abandoned in a way he hadn't in too long a time. Nothing in existence mattered more than the feel of Optimus over, under, entirely inside of him in a way he never before even considered possible. Optimus was his enemy! They should not be fragging! Yet the burning curl of absolute pleasure threading through his spark screamed in contrary.

"Come now, Megatron, nothing to say?" Optimus whispered hoarsely, throwing Megatron's earlier words back in his face.

The fingers on Megatron's node spiraled out of control. A smirk pressed against the side of his helm just as Optimus bucked up sharply, forcing their hips flush. Distantly, he heard himself scream as overload crashed one system after another. His vision whited out, as did his audios, but not before he heard Optimus purr, “So you really _do_ come for me."


End file.
